A GLASS ROAD. 



Not least among the wonders of our 

 National Yellowstone Park are the sm- 

 giilar obsidian cliffs. They are formed 

 of a volcanic glass, that, in color, re- 

 sembles the cheap green bottles of com- 

 merce. They rise in, almost, vertical 

 columns, which, though opaque, glisten 

 like jet. 



At their base is a road, probably 

 unique upon the globe. It consists en- 



tirely of glass, and is a quarter of a mile 

 long. To construct it large fires were 

 built upon the obsidian mass. Cold 

 water was then dashed on the heated 

 surface, causing it to crack and crumble 

 to pieces. This tedious undertaking, 

 finally, resulted in a roadway that is the 

 admiration and wonder of all who be- 

 hold it. 



Louise Jamison. 



THE FOG. 



up from the dark recesses 



Of the mist enshrouded night, 

 Like a ghostly pall arising 



To smother out the light. 



Comes the chill fog of winter 



When the northern lights grow dim; 

 And the mighty constellations 



On the universe's rim, 



Fade into utter darkness 



Before the besom's blight. 

 That rises, rises slowly 



From the mist enshrouded night. 



— Edgar Maclaren Swan. 



48 



